


Poetry (she can't read)

by The_Readers_Muse



Series: The Heart's Mark Series [1]
Category: North and South (UK TV), North and South - Ambiguous Fandom, North and South - Elizabeth Gaskell, North and South - Elizabeth Gaskell | UK TV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Language, Multi, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Romance, Soul Bond, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 17:02:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16288433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Readers_Muse/pseuds/The_Readers_Muse
Summary: They were not complete.Somehow, there was another.





	Poetry (she can't read)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own "North and South" 2004 or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.
> 
> Authors Note #1: This is a Margaret x John x Nicholas fic, the first in a series of drabbles titled: "The Heart's Mark."
> 
> Warnings: soul mates au, soul bond, threesome, mild language, canon appropriate before veering off into au territory, drama, romance, mild religious mentions, period typical attitudes regarding multiple partners, mild homophobia, etc.

It wasn't seen or talked about much in the common classes, save for rumor and hearsay. And in the same way, the bulk of it was hardly accurate. Too mired in sensationalism and a healthy dose of Christian fear to be even partly true, in most cases.

It was a rare phenomenon to begin with, but rarer still outside the higher classes. She'd grown up understanding that it was a throwback from the ancient royal bloodlines. Those who had been chosen to rule by God and whose descendants shared this holy gift through the centuries until it was weak enough only to manifest occasionally. And nearly always within the class most associated with it.

She had grown up with the stories, indeed she'd been raised with a living, breathing example in her parents. Two people who'd married for love, who'd been drawn together like so many rivers are drawn to the sea. She remembered the story well. Never failing to fall into a rapt, excited silence whenever it was told, no matter how many times she'd heard it. Listening to her mother as she recalled it. How their hearts mark had been etched into their skin in startling warmth and color the moment of their first kiss. A sign from the heavens that they were truly the others match. That their union was blessed with a deeper truth than many. And that their love was ordained - predestined by God himself.

So when their kiss on the train had resulted in the same - in a warm burst of pleasure and contentment that had them all but melting into each other - she was satisfied. Finding a serene comfort in the idea that her parent's legacy had passed to her.

It was only when they compared their marks on the night of their wedding. Undressing each other with nervous, eager smiles. That they realized something was amiss. Because the mark – lines angled up like a pinnacle - was incomplete. Standing out mournfully like a mountain without anything to ground it to the earth. Such a stark difference from her parent's own mark that it's meaning was immediately clear.

They were not complete.

Somehow, there was another.

"How is this possible?" she whispered into his chest. Clutching the open lapels of his shirt as her eyes stung with unshed tears. Joy threatening to turn to ashes in her mouth as she felt an ache throb in her breast. The same ache she knew he could feel just as keenly.

"I don't know, love," John murmured. Holding her fiercely as he kissed the top of her head. Throat bobbing through a painful swallow. "But we'll find them. I promise."

* * *

It took months of discrete consultation and research, but eventually they discovered their situation was not completely unheard of. There were instances in history where such complications had been strongly suspected. In one notable instance they were able to exhume an account directly from the source. From a manuscript almost five hundred years old where the Master who wrote it detailed his own experience existing in a union of three. Himself and two women - two wives. Writing that he and his first wife had discovered something was missing from their union much like they had. And despite being proper, god-fearing creatures, when they'd finally found their mistress, all notions of propriety, preference for gender and the natural order seemed without substance. Only their love remained true.

She and John discussed it at length. And while it pained her to imagine sharing her husband with another woman, she was becoming growingly desperate. The longer they remained like this, the more hollow she felt. She found herself re-reading that one account obsessively, desperate to glean more. To understand. To know what it meant to be able to love more than once and indeed- more than one.

She felt they relied on Nicholas and Mary more and more in the months following. Often spending time with them in their own separate ways. Desperate for comfort even though they could not tell them what malady they suffered from. Nicholas especially seemed to understand, staying as close as propriety would allow - both at the Mill and in their home. Often their guest as Dixon fed up him and Thomas in the lower kitchens while she and John spent many hours basking in the warmth of his steady company.

She wasn't sure why, but Nicholas' presence made it easier to bear.

Especially on the bad days.

* * *

"How they must be suffering," she remarked one evening when Mrs. Thornton was off visiting Fanny and the servants were busy elsewhere. "You and I have each other, but they are alone...I can't imagine what they must be feeling."

"It has been in my thoughts also," he admitted, turning away from the window where he'd been deep in thought. "I have been inquiring if any of my associates daughters have recently fallen ill or been taken with melancholy, but have had little success. Whoever she is, perhaps she is holding up better than we are. Which is a testament to her character, to be certain."

It was only later that she realized it was equally possible that their third could be male. There was no rule that said otherwise, certainly. Finding herself shivering in the sheets of their marriage bed when she realized that the knot of feeling in her chest had twinged like a stalwart denial every time her husband had called them 'she.'

* * *

"John, dear," she began delicately the next evening, setting aside her needle-work with deliberate care. Knowing she had to approach this correctly or all might be ruined. "I wonder if perhaps we are being short sighted in our search."

He looked up from his paper with a confused expression. Understandable considering the mound of research that teetered on both their writing desks. And how much effort they'd put into it's pursuit.

"How so?"

She cleared her throat. Nervous. Drawing his attention even further as he crossed the parlor and sank down on one knee in front of her chair. Taking her hand in his and bringing it to his mouth to kiss.

"What is it, my darling? You can tell me."

She nodded, knowing it to be true.

"It's just that...perhaps they are male? I fear we have assumed they would be female thanks to Master Finnagus' account. And I wonder- I cannot help but wonder you see if they are in fact a  _he_."

He exhaled slowly, like he'd felt the same ripple of rightness from saying it out loud. Shoulders tense like a bird of prey as the idea was considered and slowly took root. Just like she knew it would. There were some things that were wreathed in truth. And in this instance, she believed the warm beat throbbing in time in her chest. She would bet her life on it, in fact.

"That is-"

"Just as improper as two wives," she broke in, temper flaring to the forefront with surprisingly force. As if she would entertain no criticism of them from John. Or perhaps it was the hypocrisy of it. The obvious partiality men had to the idea of multiple wives as partners that bothered her.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"I suppose you are right," he allowed, rising to his feet and pacing about the room. Thinking deeply.

"Is the idea so distasteful?" she asked worriedly. Wondering, somewhat smugly, if he was enduring the same thoughts and fears she had when they'd first come across the manuscript. Only to retract the wish almost immediately. She was not that cruel.

"No. And yes," he answered after a lengthy pause. Crossing over to the decanter in the corner and pouring himself a generous measure. Swallowing the potent liquor quickly, as if he needed its strength to calm him. "I find I don't know how to feel."

"I as well," she assured, feeling strangely lighter for saying it. "But it is right.  _It feels right._  If this is God's will, we cannot fight it."

"I think you're right," he conceded, taking her hand as she crossed to him and tucked her head into his chest. Surprising her by not fighting it, even though she knew it would be some time before he came to terms with it. Just as she had.

She nodded. Joining him as they looked out the window that spanned off in the direction of the poorer neighbourhoods of Milton. Wondering suddenly if  _he_  – their missing piece – was doing the same, wherever he was.

"I feel it too, here," she murmured. Pressing her hand on his chest, just above where his heart beat in his breast. Fingers flirting with the buttons of his new suit jacket, just as she longed to do with their third. Feeling terribly as though she might start to fade if they didn't have him in their arms soon.

* * *

It wasn't until a couple months hence that their waiting finally came to an end.

And just like all truly miraculous things, they made their discovery fully by chance.

It was in the heat of high summer and an uncommonly hot one at that, when Nicholas, who had recently been promoted to overseer, spotted a spark from one of the machines and yelled the alarm.

The spark landed in a stack of unprocessed cotton. Filling the air with flaming cinders that very well could have been the end of them all. But with God's grace and everyone's hard work they were able to stop the flames before there was much damage.

John and Nicholas had found each other in the aftermath. Soaked with water and sweat - blackened by soot. Nicholas had been the worst off. He'd been first in line running the bucket brigade - clothing scorched and lungs dry as ashes. John had found him coughing, stumbling and overheated when the work was done. Bad enough off that he'd barely protested when John had dragged him off to one of the outhouses and doused him with water. Not stopping until the man was cursing and alert. So thoroughly soaked that his clothes were practically see through - plastered close to his skin.

And that was when John saw it.

His mark.

 _Their_   _mark_.

The missing piece.

The way John told it later when they were splayed out on the sheets, panting and nude, it had been as though the heat of an entirely different spark had lit inside them. Because the moment he saw the mark, shining black and bold on Nicholas chest, he'd known.

And what was more, somehow so had Nicholas. Seeming to understand what had been lingering unfinished and achingly possible between them for so long.

Both of them had been so caught in that same breathless moment – stunned, joyful and confused - that they'd seized the other in a fit of emotion. Smearing their skin with soot as they tore at clothes and buttons to get to flesh. To trace their marks with reverent breaths before Nicholas grabbed John by the nape of his neck and took his lips in a fierce kiss.

John always laughed when he recalled that part. Teasing Nicholas for his boldness until the man's cheeks turned hot. Taking them down into the sheets with a huff. Gentle and strong, as was his way.

The kiss in the outhouse had been sharp and masculine, more a struggle of dominance than anything. At least until the violence subsided and their hands were everywhere. Tugging down breeches and grinding their hardness against one another until they spilled. Somehow righting themselves enough to make their way through the smoke and into the great house to join her.

She remembered the hours that'd spanned out afterwards.

Greedy.

Hungry.

Passionate.

 _Righteous_.

And as he kissed her when he sank into her heat with a groan that reverberated deep in his chest, she found that the ancient man's account was only too right. Feeling John's weight as he draped himself over Nicholas' back. Desperate to be close.

All she felt was love.

No different than what she felt for John.

And while it took them longer to say it, she knew they felt the same. Both for her and each other.

At last, they were complete.


End file.
